Outright fabrications designed to screw

The opportunity to engage in some guilt-free tomfoolery rarely presents itself...but when it does, when even your conscience is begging you to take up the cause, you have to turn to that conscience of yours and say, "it’s okay, conscience; get up from your knees and get ready to feel that sweet, sweet release of humiliation at someone else’s expense".
Especially when that "someone else" is a group of white, sideways-hat-wearing, shit-talking, pot-smoking dipshits who’ve just spent the last fifteen-minutes hollering about "bitches" and being "thugs" even though they aren’t old enough for either.
Gloriously, one of them asks me for a smoke:
Me:
Oh...
[opening pack to reveal seven cigarettes]
...I can’t. I’m going to need them.
[pause]
I have to go to an execution later today, so I’m a little stressed.
Another Dipshit From the Group:There’s no executions in Canada, man.
Me:
[turning to face him]
There sure are; the government reversed their opinion on capital punishment in June.
[frown]
You didn’t hear about that?
Yet Another Dipshit From the Group:[scrunching up face]
Really?
Me:
Yep. In fact, I could really use some of that shit you were talking about, y’know...
[I hold my pinched fingers to my pursed lips]
...to take the edge off.
[they try to figure out how to they could tell if I’m a cop]
It’s going to be a long day.
Dipshit Who Asked For a Cigarette:
I’ve only got a little bit left.
Me:
Who’d you get it from, Marco?
Dipshit Who Asked For a Cigarette:
Nah, man. Josh.
Me:Josh?
[grimace]
You know he cuts his shit with grass-clippings, right?
Another Dipshit From the Group:[making sure we‘re talking about the same guy]
Josh?
Me:
Mm-hmm. And in winter?
[pause as they lean in to hear]
Shredded bonsai-tree leaves.
[they all pull out their stash and hold it to the light, looking for imaginary foliage]
Oh, well. Thanks anyway.
[I get into my car and watch them angrily dial their cell-phones; I shift it to drive as I hear one of them yell "Josh, you motherfucker!" at what had to be either a surprised teenager or some hardcore gangster who won‘t take kindly to being called a "motherfucker"; I smoothly negotiate the cracked and brittle parking lot exit, cackling]